A Bear and a Cat
by archergwen
Summary: Like everyone else, Ulfric Stormcloak imagined the Dragonborn to come as a strong-armed Nord in a blaze of glory. But she slipped in with the cackle of magic, becoming both something of a worst nightmare and something of a trusted friend.
1. Chapter 1

Ulfic Stormcloak was yelling at the top of his lungs at Galmar when a robed and hooded figure slipped into the Palace of Kings to be intercepted by his steward. "Yes, Doomsday is avoided thanks to the Dragonborn, but we have no idea who they are or where they are living. Perhaps they want it that way, but how can they sit by while Skyrim tears itself apart in war? How can they not fight?"

"Perhaps they do not know why they should."

"Why fight? Why fight! I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil. I fight for their wives and children, whose names I heard whispered in their last breaths. I fight for we few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces. I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves! I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing. I fight because I must!"

His steward's stammering introduction of the figure simply slipped through his ears. "What is it you need?"

The figure softly cupped their left hand around a closed right fist and dropped into the flat back of a mage's bow. "I wish to offer my services as a battlemage to the Stormcloak army."

Ulfric shot a glance at Galmar. Years of leadership had taught him some reading of people. This stranger radiated power in her decorated robes and precise bow. Her voice had a highborn accent, though roughened with years of study around common folk. She was unafraid in his presence. His glance at his advisor confirmed his suspicions with the man's mouthed word: "Archmage."

"I thank you for your offer, Archmage. Please accept my condolences on the passing of Savos Aren. He will be deeply missed."

As she straightened, her hands reached up to brush her hood back. "I wonder that that is the title you have fixated on." At his barely contained disgust, she smirked. "Unless you did not pay attention to a word your steward said."

Ulfric was staring into the golden, cat-like eyes of a High Elf.

"And what would I want with a Thalmor spy in my army? Why should I seek my own destruction?" Galmar stiffened, but Ulfric was unrepentant.

She cocked her head. "And here I thought the Thalmor had the monopoly on being racist bastards." Ulfric straightened in rage but she lifted a hand to cut him off. "But no matter. My offer still stands. I am an Expert in Restoration magic, and a master of Alteration, Conjuration, and Destruction. I would be a valuable asset." She bowed again, hands once again showing she meant no harm to Ulfric, though not as deep or long as before.

"I reiterate: I have no need of Thalmor in my army. You can include that in your report about the College."

"And I am deeply insulted that you would kin me to the man whose actions and lack thereof brought about the death of Savos Aren and Mirabelle Ervine. He has been dead the past two moons. The College belongs to itself now."

"You'll understand if I do not take your word for it."

She smiled like a cat. "Then I will take my leave. Krosis, dii jun. Guur, hind nisejun."

Ulfric leapt to his feet before she could fully turn away. "What was that?"

Her grin stretched wider. "I must cry your pardon again. I forgot the dovahzul, the dragon tongue, does not come so easily to those without the dovahsos." Her face turned to his ceiling, she said one word: **YOL** and a plume of fire leapt from her lips.

"Dragonborn!"

"Dovahkiin," she corrected with the look of a contented feline. "Now it is your turn, and I know you have access to words of power. The elder speaks first. Or do you wish to reject my offer of tinvaak?"

_Fuck._ She had him trapped. He could insult her, again, when he knew full well she was the hero of Skyrim. Or he could accept that she placed him in a subordinate position, and quite securely.

**FUS. **

The Word that had in part slain the last king of Skyrim rolled over her like a summer breeze. She rocked into its power, breathing deeply. "You honor me, Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Your presence honors us all, Dovahkiin," he replied. "I would be glad to fight next to you against the Imperials."

She purred. "I am a mage and an elf. Do not try to lie and say you welcome my kind of strength. But I will fight with your army. Provided you can tell me my name. Just my name, not my house or all the titles I hold. Three little syllables."

Ulfric scrambled through his memory, trying to find her name. But there was nothing. "Forgive me, Dovahkiin."

"It is not in a dragon's nature to forgive. But perhaps an elf can." She bowed, slightly, not taking her eyes off him. "Farewell, Ulfric Stormcloak." She turned on a heel and glided from the hall, pulling her hood up as she went.

When the doors closed, the Jarl sunk into his throne as his advisor cuffed his arm. "She's the Archmage! What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking she's an elf, and a high elf of that. How was I supposed to consider her other than as a threat?"

"And would Savos choose as his successor someone unworthy?"

Ulfric sighed, leaning into his hands. "I know. I know. I was distracted and paid for it dearly. But the next high elf that walks in here won't be the Dragonborn. Am I supposed to forget my imprisonment?"

"By the Nine, Ulfric, I hate them as much as you. I just hide it when someone walks in here radiating so much power you could strike a match off the aura she puts out. Damn it, Ulfric."

"I know. I messed up. But maybe she'll come around later."

Galmar scoffed. "She just said it is not in a dragon's nature to forgive."

"But she's still a mortal, with the touch of Talos in her. She's not entirely dragon. If I play my cards right, she might forgive at least some of the disrespect in time."

"As you say, Ulfric. Keep your optimism. I've got plans to make."

Ulfric settled down to think for a while yet. Technically, petition hours were not yet over. Though after his reinforcement of the Grey Quarter's boundaries, he had seen less requests as the citizens gave up an accepted how things were. Though in light of today, perhaps he should reconsider. Or at least do something to lessen the stories of assault and abuse filtering out of that side of the city. Skyrim belongs to the Nords, yes. But maybe he ought to investigate claims of less-than-moral Nords taking advantage of the refugees. After all, several boons to the Hold's economy did not come from Nords.

The Jarl rose and made his way towards the front of the hall to ask about Archmages from his own court mage when there was a soft thump from outside followed by screams from guards outside. Drawing his sword, Ulfric burst out of the doors and almost drew back in horror.

A headless body lay in the middle of the courtyard, its head rolling listlessly several feet away. Sheets of paper fluttered in the air, falling slowing from the air. He snatched one from the air and read "BEWARE THE BUTCHER" in large letters, with the 'butcher' crossed out and replaced with the name of a shop-owner in the city, one who had sold "curios" as he called them.

"Gentlemen, the Butcher has been caught and delivered. I would have preferred him alive, but it seems our vigilante is prone to vengeance and showy displays."

A high and clear laugh rang out from above the roof of the palace. All turned to look up, but all the Jarl saw was a smear of black vanishing across his roof with the swirl of a long midnight cloak.

**A/N: No, Not A Lad isn't finished. Yes, I shouldn't be starting a second multi-chapter fic. But the internet died for a while and I couldn't look up stuff so I could write the next few chapters. So this happened. I intended the dovahzul to say "Deepest apologies, my jarl/king. Farewell, wishful not-king."**


	2. Chapter 2

"Ulfric, you cannot continue to ignore these reports."

But the rebellion's leader ignored the words spoken to him. He merely stared at the map where all the positions of his men were marked against the guessed positions of the Empire.

"Ulfric!" Galmar pulled the Jarl to face him. "Ulfric, this is messing with the morale of the men. You must pay attention."

"Alright, alright. Tell me of this shadow."

Galmar grinned like he had won a battle. He clapped his old friend's shoulder in contentment before turning to the young soldier who had brought the report. "Alright, Ice-Veins. Tell him what you told me. You'll survive it."

"If anything, sir, you were the more terrifying face to tell." There was good-hearted laughter and the soldier relaxed a little, before stiffening with the memory of his report. "Jarl Ulfric, sir, the Stormcloaks are aided by a mysterious force. We'd like to believe that it's a mortal warrior afraid to show their face for some reason, but with the skill and power shown, well there's rumors it's a spirit."

"Keep the superstition out of this report."

"I'm reporting the fact that it exists, sir. The warrior appears once the fight has already begun, sometimes wielding blades, sometimes with hands covered in deadly purple energy. But there's always a cackle of magic about when the warrior enters the field. Cloaked in ebony armor from head to foot that's darker than anything I've ever seen, the warrior pushes us forward in a way. We want to be as powerful and mighty as her."

Ulfric raised an eyebrow. " You say 'her.' Can you be sure?"

The young man nodded. "I personally can. You may well know there was recently a rescue mission staged under the command of Ralof of Riverwood that led to the liberation of Falkreath Hold? I was one of the prisoners freed. But until I and my freed comrades reached the battle I didn't see a single one of Ralof's men. Oh, they did an excellent job at their work. But it was the warrior who came for us in the cells. I've personally taken to calling her the Night Warrior after that midnight rescue.

"The guard was sitting in his chair, lax, when two bright eyes appeared in the shadows across from me, where I knew there was a somewhat secretive passage. Had the guard been attentive, the figure would be spotted. I immediately insulted the guard's parentage."

He paused as the men around him laughed. "It was rash but it worked. The guard stood up to kick me through the bars. Around him, I watched the figure creep forward with the grace of a dancer to reach one hand out into the light. Maybe it was just momentary delirium or the light, but I swear I could see glimpses of golden skin. She reached out until suddenly she became near-impossible to see. Black tendrils of smoke eased their way from the armor as if like magic. At the same time, the guard's skin went dark. He didn't notice, as he was yelling at me, until his throat seemed to close up. He fell to the ground, coughing and foaming at the mouth. When he died, his skin returned to its original color and the smoke vanished. She grabbed up his keys, unlocked my door, and bid me rouse the other prisoners. She told me of the prison break Ralof was staging. Her voice was like a melody and I swore she was a spirit. But when she pushed me towards my cell neighbor, I knew she was real. Before I could properly thank her, she was gone."

Ulfric was silent, the wheels in his head turning furiously. When the silence became too much to bear, he inclined his head towards the soldier. "I thank you for your report. Have you recovered from your imprisonment?"

"I don't suffer from war fetters, if that's what you mean. I caught a few cuts when we took over the fort, but nothing that won't properly heal."

"Make sure you tend to those cuts, Ice-Veins. Rot can set into the smallest of cuts. And soldier? Nightmares are nothing to be ashamed of, not when the monster of war has stared you in the face."

"Is that all, sir?" He replied, perhaps a bit too swiftly.

Ulfric shook his head. "Unless you can tell me without a doubt where the Night Warrior was last seen, you are dismissed."

"When I was reapplying bandages the next day, a messenger came by with news of a sighting on the way to Markarth. By your leave, officers." The young soldier bowed and made his exit.

Ulfric turned back to his map. "Ralof is stationed in Falkreath for now, so this cannot be his design, or a groupie of his. I know the blonde's a charmer."

Galmar chuckled. "Isn't that why you gave him command?"

"Yeah, some reason like that." He let the good mood dissolve away. "My one question is that if she spurned me, why is she still waging war for me?"

"Wait. What?"

"A battlemage with uncanny power appears out of nowhere to fight for us, never showing a face, as if she has a reason not to. The soldier reported golden skin and a melodic voice. If she was trying to play the 'spirit' card, I have no doubt she'd try to turn up the siren voice."

"I am still lost."

Ulfric sighed. "The Dragonborn, Galmar. The Dragonborn is the Night Warrior."

"What? That's not possible."

"Do I need to go through my reasoning again?"

"That's not what I meant. She spurned you in a very clear way not three months ago. You said so yourself. You crossed a High Elf, and I get the feeling she was important even before she discovered she was Dragonborn and came to Skyrim. She established dominance over you. Why come aid you?"

"I've been thinking about that. I want to say she does so because she spurned me, not Skyrim, not the war, not beardless youths with war fetters. Maybe she intends to put me in her debt and claim the High Throne for herself. But I cannot divine her reasons by sitting around here while men die and she plays hero." He strode out the doors, leaving Galmar to mutter something along the lines of "I think the Dragonborn does more than 'play' hero." Ulfric gestured to his Steward. "Have them prepare my horse. I am riding to Winderhold."

Jorlief sprang into action as Galmar came up behind Ulfric. "Are you mad? Wait a while, give me time to form a proper retinue."

"She was spotted in the south. If she gets word that a party is leaving Windhelm for Winterhold, she'll hurry back to the College. But if I get there first, I can ask questions, get to know her from the views of others."

"Ulfric-"

"Follow me, if it matters that much to you! You know where I'm headed. No sabre-cat will take me down." As the Jarl stormed out of the Palace of Kings, his right hand man scrambled to find men to ride as soon as possible.

His horse was ready and the snow just beginning to fall. Ulfric swung himself up and spurred the horse onward, into an easy but swift gait. There was a lot of ground to cover, and no doubt Galmar would be following at a more hurried pace. No need to worry about them catching up.

The road was lonely though, and Ulfric almost wished he had allowed Galmar to join him.

He was riding in to Winterhold city when he heard the jangle of tack that meant the retinue had caught up to him. He dismounted before the shocked townspeople and hitched his horse. "I am here to speak with the Archmage only. Please forgive the men behind me if they are rough. I did not ask them to follow me."

Feeling eyes on him from all sides, Ulfric walked towards the College bridge. Men rose right up next to him before leaping off their horses, but he ignored them. His mind had one single focus.

"By Talos, Ulfric, will you not pause?" Galmar huffed.

The Jarl silently led the wedge of men up to the first chunk of the bridge, where a High Elf stood in his way, arms obstinately crossed.

"No one enters the College without a show of magic."


	3. Chapter 3

Ulfric stared at the elven mage on the bridge. After a few tense moments, he heard the scraping of swords against their sheaths. To her credit, the mage didn't flinch. _She knows she can take us and still be in the right. _"At ease, men. We are on her turf. We must follow her customs. We would demand the same of our visitors."

The elf smiled. "Only a test of magical aptitude gets you past me and into the college. Of course, a demonstration of your Thu'um would suffice, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak."

He chuckled in reply. "I feel at a great disadvantage, as you know my name but I don't have an inkling of yours."

"You are wise to do so. Names have power, and rumor has it you lack the Archmage's name as well. But I will not quarrel with you. My name is Faralda."

"I High Elf with such a task as yours must have titles."

She laughed liked tinkling bells. "Indeed I do, but you would neither understand what they mean nor the power they identify and would give to you. I will guard them until you better learn."

"What makes you think I will?"

"A would-be High King of Skyrim, Nord down to his very soul, has willingly come to the Mage's College for tinvaak with the Archmage. You have no choice but to learn. Ask your questions later. Now, the Thu'um."

**_FUS._**

Faralda was ruffled by the Shout but recovered quickly. "Enter, Ulfric Stormcloak." When his men made to follow, she lifted a sparkling hand. "None of you have passed the test. If you know magelight, now is the time to cast it. Or I could sell it to you if you are that determined to follow your Jarl." When none of the men moved, she cast a blue ward between the soldiers and the college. "Pity. And here I took this as a sign Skyrim's Nords were finally beginning to accept magic. Come, Ulfric."

She led him away from his men, but he willingly stepped in line with her after a pacifying gesture to Galmar. In his peripheral vision he watched them slowly drift away.

"How do you know the word tinvaak," he asked, turning to her before the first circular section of the strange bridge.

"The Archmage has taught us much of dragon lore. 'We have learned almost too much,' I sometimes tell her. She does not teach us to harness our Thu'um, however. If we seek that magic, we must go up to High Hrothgar and the Throat of the World. She doesn't want any little dragons running around I think."

"Seems wise. If one of you were to send another flying with a Shout-"

Her shoulders shook with contained laughter. "Ulfric, you must befriend the Archmage. She has much to teach you."

"And you will not?"

She lit the second beacon. "No, it is not my place to teach, especially not you."

He let a moment of silence pass as they walked. "Will you tell me the Archmage's name?"

"There was such uproar the first time she suggested starting to repair this walkway. Stones had been falling loose for years after that strange thing happened that decimated Winterhold and harmed the College. But the Archmage showed us designs Savos had drawn, the previous Archmage. Apparently he and Mirabelle, one of his chief advisors, had been discussing ways to improve the College. Now they are coming to fruition. We've made repairs to the external face of the College as well. You will not believe how many strange pieces of magic we've pulled out of the school. Everything seems lighter now, almost as if the Great Collapse was something of a curse. The Archmage has befriended the Jarl of Winterhold. It's hard not to be friends with her if she's out of dragon mode. We've started examining the coastline so far, and have found plenty of the same traces of magic as in the college walls. Tolfdir, the Master Wizard, thinks that may be the cause of the swift erosion. Once we get the city to trust us more, we'll start examining the buildings. Leftover magic might be driving the people away and keeping new ones out."

"I don't think that's her name."

Faralda laughed again. "Of course it's not. You have to pay attention to what Altmer don't say. I've been here long enough and came to the College early enough that I usually speak plainly like any Nord. But even so, this I will not say. I've already told you why."

Ulfric looked at the elf out of the corner of his eye. "Names really have that much power?"

"Hers does, to those that understand. Maybe you can get her to explain a little. Maybe you can repair your mistakes enough that she starts to speak plainly to you."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Faralda lit the last beacon and stopped walking. "I want you to have the best chance, Ulfric, no matter what you already think of me just given what I am. We can't change the Empire. But you, Stormcloak? You haven't stopped listening to Skyrim yet. You might yet be the man to help us and help Winterhold throw off the past's shadows. You are a man. You can change. The Dominion and Empire will not, cannot. Remember that when you look the Archmage in the eyes."

She gestured, and Ulfric realized it was time to walk on without her. He gave a respectful nod and started forward.

"Oh, and when you leave, you should probably tell your men that the ward I cast only stops magical attacks. They could have walked right through it." With that, she giggled and walked back down the lifted path.

With a shake of his head, Ulfric moved forward, deeper into the College.

He could not avoid awe when he stepped into the courtyard and looked up at the statue in the middle. He could appreciate strategic architectural design. He was almost to the doors on the other side of the statue when a greyed man came running towards him.

"Excuse me, sir! Where do you think you're going?"

"Faralda escorted me to the courtyard. I am here seeking council with the Archmage."

The man froze in place. "Forgive me, Jarl Ulfric. I did not expect you so soon. She told us you would come, and that you had studied the Thu'um. I am glad you finally arrived. I am Tolfdir, the Master Wizard."

Ulfric gave a respectful nod. "You must then be the Archmage's closest advisor. Please, can you escort me to her?"

A Breton who had slipped up behind Ulfric from some other door to the courtyard huffed and he wheeled to face her. She crossed her arms, an unpleasant look on her face. "You cannot see the Archmage. She's very busy and-"

"Out of town?"

"No, she's just too busy to see random Jarls that think they can insult her and then-"

"That's enough, Colette." Ulfric turned back towards the now open doors to the inner area of the College. The Archmage stood there, smiling serenely. "Ulfric, please follow me. No doubt you have many things to discuss that the general public should not hear."

The Breton seemed offended, until a Khajiit stepped from the shadows. "I would not talk to just anyone."

The Archmage rolled her eyes, lightly mocking, and gestured for the Jarl to follow. With one last look at the other three mages, he trailed after the elf. She led him through a side door and up a winding staircase.

"Now you're just showing off," he murmured when they reached what he assumed were her quarters.

She flashed a smile and showed him to a chair near the inside, lit-up garden. "I have a visiting dignitary. Of course I am showing off. Please, if there is any food or water I can offer you, let me know. I hear you rode without stopping to get here. You must be hungry."

"I would rather have your name." She blinked. He could see the wheels in her head turning as she reached for a pitcher and poured a cup of water. She offered it to him, along with a loaf of bread. He accepted both in silence, watching her as a wolf or bear does its prey. She moved about the room, selecting some cheeses and apples on a tray. She set the pewter near him and took a seat as well.

"My name is Siltuzma Thilinihle, daughter of Lylionniss of the House of Setting Sun from the city Dusk of the Summerset Isle, Archmage of Winterhold College, Thane of Winterhold, and Dovahkiin. What is it that you want to know?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Siltuzma," Ulfric repeated, letting the syllables get used to his tongue. "You must be quite attached to Winterhold, to be Thane in addition to Archmage of the College."

She smiled, recognizing his tactic. "I am indeed. When my family left the Summerset Isle, I headed straight here for the College, to improve my magical abilities. It has become my home in many ways, and I am always grateful when I find a new way to serve and give back."

"Is your family otherwise spread out in Skyrim or other nations?"

"No."

Her short answer was said without a hint of malice or emotion beyond that of a casual conversation. It still said much. Ulfric debated his next question, knowing he could likely make her say what he already knew, but decided to let the matter drop. He had more important questions to ask.

"I take it the city you come from is important?"

"When I introduce myself to other Mer it is. It further narrows down where I am from, who I might know, and other related information. Giving the name of a city means I'm not some poor farmer or manor family."

Ulfric nodded. "Sometime I would like you to explain the different Houses. I am sure there is a lot to learn. But I have a larger, more important question."

She leaned forward, expectant and friendly. "Ask away."

"Why are you helping my armies as the Night Warrior, rather than the Dovahkiin as is your right?"

The elf froze, eyes boring into him. There was no anger in her face, just hesitation and the quickly whirring wheels in her head. She reached for her glass without any hurry and calmly took a drink. Taking a breath, she returned her attention to his face. "What makes you think I am this warrior you speak of? I am the Archmage, and there are a great many repairs I intend to do here."

"Siltuzma," he began. "I spoke with the young warrior you sprung from the fortress in Falkreath. He described a woman of High Elf descent, with great magical power. I knew it was you. No other elf I know has such gifts. You, the Archmage, would know how to find or craft poisoning armor-" she paled slightly. "-I may have slighted you, gravely. You were right to spurn me and refuse to aid me. But you didn't say you wouldn't help Skyrim. You didn't say that you wouldn't fight for young men that only seek their liberty, and are rewarded with nightmares. Your gatekeeper, Faralda, told me that what the High Elves don't say is just as important as what they do. I am trying to listen, Dovahkiin. I am trying to learn. Do I still want you all thrown out of Skyrim on principle? Yes," he admitted not without a hint of embarrassment. "But I would be a fool to change my views based on two cases alone."

The Archmage leaned back in her chair, calculating as obvious as any cat. When silence had decidedly and solidly fallen on the two, and he did not break it, she leapt forward and out of her chair. "Follow me, Ulfric."

He rose as well and followed her around behind the garden. It was darker behind the wall, but that did not stop his eyes from picking out the detail of the glass cases before him. "Is that-"

"Yes. I accepted the position of Thane when Jarl Balgruuf offered it to me, and I have many such cases hidden in Breezehome in Whiterun." She brushed her fingers over the plaque resting at eye level beside the case. The word leapt out at Ulfric again. _Alduin. _"I gathered as much as I could carry from each dragon I killed and forged a set of armor from their bones and scales. It took much work, but the satisfaction of facing the World-Eater in the bones of his allies was worth it."

Ulfric moved to the second case, one without a plaque. "And this?"

She sighed. "That is ebony armor, crafted so long ago, the name of its crafter is lost to time, if there was one. It is given to the Champion of Boethiah at her will. This armor, called Boethiah's Embrace, provides several benefits. One of them being that nearby enemies are poisoned."

"Mmm," replied Ulfric, allowing her confession to sink in. "You are no longer Thane of Whiterun?"

"Vignar Grey-Mane seemed to find dragon-slaying not a solid enough reason to retain me as Thane in his court. He at least had the decency to let me keep the house."

Ulfric glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She stood ramrod straight, not a falter in her step of face. He thought he saw a glimpse of hurt in some of the light from her eyes, but he said nothing. She was going to be the death of him, if he had to think through everything around her. The darkness inside of him, the part that would not let go of pain, hissed at any effort he spent to get to know her. There was enough common sense, enough of Galmar's practicality, that Ulfric swallowed his pride and turned to face the Archmage, dropping to one knee.

"Archmage Siltuzma, of the House of Setting Sun from the city Dusk, Thane of Winterhold and Dovahkiin, I know I did not correctly state your titles to address you. Please forgive my mortal memory. But I would be honored if you would reconsider fighting by my side for the Stormcloak army. I beg your forgiveness for my mistakes and flaws. I ask you to defy your dragon nature and forgive."

Her soft hand touched his shoulder. "Ulfric Stormcloak, I cannot fight as a member of an army. I have realized that weakness of mine. But I once again offer my services to you as a battlemage, to stand behind deliver ranged attacks should we meet our enemies on the field, or to race next to you through city streets and forts as we take what belongs to Skyrim back. The Archmage and Dovahkiin feel the urge to be free and seek it for Skyrim as well. I will help you."

Gentle pressure underneath his chin brought him back to his feet. She offered one bare, golden hand out in a peace offering. His gaze raked over the slender fingers extended out. Before his mind could relive every instance of similar hands reaching out to harm and maim, he ripped his own glove off and accepted her shake.

Siltuzma softened. "I will see you when you make your next move. May I suggest Markarth itself? The Reach is full of hardy people, the city built into the mountain itself. A taken fort will not subdue it like Falkreath. The Thalmor's presence will complicate matters."

"I should be there myself, is what you're saying."

She inclined her head. "Just like at Whiterun. You must take Skyrim as well, not just the Stormcloak army."

Ulfric hummed. "I will want to take their fort first. I hope to give them a chance to surrender, even if it is against their nature. The Thalmor, I know how to deal with them."

Her gaze did not change, nor her voice's timbre, as she replied, "Perhaps you should reconsider your blind commitment to their destruction. After all, I seem to remember someone acting exactly like the Thalmor not three months ago."

"That was different."

"How so?"

He almost slammed his fist into her wall. "I didn't torture information out of you in order to kill your father!"

The elf didn't move. Her golden eyes stared into him, only the smallest hint of accusation and hurt. "Until you learn to assign blame to the individual, not the entire race, will you not be able to find peace. Would you blame all Nords for the actions of the one? But because one Altmer, one Thalmor I too want to see burn, is your captor, we all hurt you. Yet Elenwen would not share the credit for your confession with anyone, not even the one that caused the pain. She receives the promotion; he gets a bonus but remains in whatever prison."

"I never thought-"

"You are still learning. You would probably die an old man without ever thinking to ask about the Beautiful, wouldn't you? By Akatosh and Auri-El, you don't know of the Beautiful?" She reached for a book off her shelf, entitled _Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition: Summerset Isles._ "Read this. You should gather even the barest bits of information it will offer. One should know their declared enemy." He took the book hesitantly. "It will not kill you. Now go."

Ulfric looked at her sharply. "What?"

"I have answered questions. Now I tire and wish to rest. If I wish to make it to Markarth quickly, I will need plenty of energy."

Her look dared him to make mention of the repeated confession, but he only bowed slightly. "By your leave, Archmage Siltuzma."

She inclined her head in return, eyes following him until he left her chambers.


	5. Chapter 5

_The Night Warrior was at Fort Sungard._

The missive included reports on the numbers of effectives, wounded, and dead. The positions of Stormcloaks and Imperials were noted in detail, and minute detail to boot. Supply lines were re-drawn, re-enforced, and re-affirmed. Commanders recorded their plans, back-up plans, and requests for more men. Ralof and his men had been included in the units that had joined the forces in the Reach. There was a second collection of documents in Ulfric's hands that reported on the situation in Hjaalmarch, the slow encroachment that was meant to speed up once Markarth and the Reach was taken. He needed to read that missive as well, but the small sliver of paper with one scrawled sentence haunted him.

_The Night Warrior was at Fort Sungard._

How did she move so fast? He had been in Windhelm for hardly a day by the time the attack on the fort occurred, having just left the College. He had spent an uncomfortable few days traveling south for the Stormcloak camp near Morthal. Granted, he had spent a small bit of time making an appearance in Whiterun to lend strength to the new Jarl's rule. It seemed he had the support of the Companions and half the population. If Vignar did things right, he could end up popular one day.

The Jarl sighed as he crossed the border into the hold of the Reach. There were so many tainted memories here for him. He hadn't been a young man for a long time, so he lacked that impulsive desire to destroy everything that hurt. But he would never love this part of Skyrim.

It was with exhaustion that Ulfric Stormcloak entered the Stormcloak camp and dragged himself into his tent. To his pleasant surprise, his men had set up his quarters so that the entryway faced a grove of trees towards the rear, meaning he could forget he was actually surrounded by Dwemer rock. He gave a distracted wave at the dark soldier guarding his things, until she laughed.

"Is that anyway to greet the 'Night Warrior?'"

Adrenaline shot through him, and he looked again.

Sure enough, the dark armor was Boethiah's Embrace. With her mage's mask removed, the Archmage Siltuzma smiled calmly at Ulfric, eyes betraying nothing but mirth. "Your observation skills are a little spotty. I think you need practice."

"Isn't that why I have men to help me? But enough, come inside. There is plenty to discuss."

She followed him in, ducking slightly out of respect, and partly because her head nearly grazed the low-hanging tent. Ulfric had forgotten about the height of elves.

"I did dismiss you before you had sated your curiosity, didn't I?"

"It was to be expected. We both had much to do following even how short our conversation was. If I may ask another question, as it has been lingering for a while, how do you manage to traverse Skyrim so quickly?"

Talos help him, but he was starting to like her smile as he did Galmar's laugh.

"Even as a child I was in a hurry. I learned to be fleet of foot from the very beginning. My childhood friend and I would have many races. And a stamina potion can go a long way, and the mask helps regenerate my magicka so as to be ready for any emergency spells. But it is largely due to my mastery of a Shout that speeds the caster like the wind. I can only use it so many times, but when crossing the flat plains of Whiterun it is quite handy as a Shout."

"Impressive. I sometimes long for the days when I studied with the Greybeards. Life was simpler, and I was learning to deeply understand the world. But no matter. Here, my men have set up a map of the city. I have taken it before, but I wonder if your knowledge will provide any assistance? In particular, what do you know of the Thalmor's presence in Markarth? If great it could complicate matters."

She crossed to the map, back to him and the world, and studied the map, placing her mask on the table. Watchful, he circled the table and came to rest directly across from her. She was calculating something.

"There is one Thalmor Justiciar stationed in Markarth with two soldiers. Chief Justiciar Ondolemar is not here because Elenwen hates him, but because recent reports indicate he may not be as devoted to the Thalmor aims as he used to be. As far as my dealings with him in the city go, he was nothing but polite, with all proper Altmeri customs edged with Thalmor training. His soldiers are more loyal to him than to the Dominion, but that's what happens when you're stationed on foreign soil with only two other members of your people. The court wizard does not count, the crazy man."

"I take it Ondolemar doesn't know you are affiliated with the Beautiful."

Her eyes flashed to his, and he cursed his mistake. "It is true that the Dominion allows the Thalmor to hunt down any members of the Beautiful and destroy them and their family, that the taint will not spread. Innocents are not harmed, for the Dominion will not destroy a proper Aldemri family on heresy. There must be clear proof that is unforged. You might leave everything and cling to the belief that for once, the Thalmor are wrong and pursue innocents. But then your brother misspeaks, and you don't mind running to save his life. You just wished he had told you."

Ulfric bowed his head. "My apologies for my mistake." Silence fell momentarily as he considered his next words. "And for your loss."

The emotions in her eyes slowly receded. "In my youth, I told my brother he should have joined me running. He never quite got around to believing me, but I suppose that's what siblings do."

"I wouldn't know. I never had one."

She whistled. "And your father still allowed you to study with the Greybeards? He must have really believed in them, and you."

"It didn't always feel like it, but yes, he must have." Before the conversation could die, he gestured to the map again. "You have been in the city more recently than me. Is there any spot that I should avoid? I am also expecting you to be at my side with Galmar through this."

"That will be-" Her ears twitched, and she fell silent, lifting one gloved hand. She suddenly went entirely dark and black smoke wafted from her armor. "Get down!" She moved in front of him as the unmistakable sound of an arrow finally reached his ears. It missed them both, ripping a hole through the back of the tent.

Siltuzma snatched up her mask and went on the offensive.

The elf paced outside the tent, with a yell and a clear growl at him to stay back. She suddenly whispered a few strange words, sweeping her hands up. An arc of fire leapt to life with her arms, nearly encircling the tent the two inhabited. He questioned the move until a flaming arrow flew through the flames. That arrow was slightly easier to dodge and put out when it hit the table.

When he looked back up, a wave of her hand caused a small pink flare of life and faded beyond the flames. The fire quickly died as ice spikes leapt into her palms. With flicks of her wrists, the spikes flew into the trees towards where the flare had appeared, new chunks of ice forming before their predecessors hit a target. She was fast and deadly, wholly intent on the foe in the trees.

One arrow whizzed forth with near-deadly accuracy, catching the rough edges of the mask and tearing it from her face.

She turned with the blow, and Ulfric could see the snakes of blue reaching from the mask to her as it fell. Her eyes were alight with battle fury, and the Jarl started to reach for his own sword. The elf gathered herself before he could move, and with hazy green vines lacing up her twisting arms, she reached towards the forest and _pulled._

Her fingers clenched, and she dug her heels into the earth and _pulled _again as the green energy brightened. The trees rustled and shook with each effort, until finally a man covered in the same green came flying out of the grove.

Quiver spilled out over the ground, the archer tried to grab for purchase to stand and face the advancing elf. But her boot was at his neck, forcing him down, before a sound could escape. He was swallowed in the blackness emanating from the armor as he tried to dislodge the elf. Her fingers twisted, and flames briefly sprung to life. But she could hold nothing greater than a candle. With a frustrated, not repentant, sigh, the Archmage let her hand fall. With eyes drunk on the rage of battle, she watched her prey as the armor's poison suffocated the life from the would-be assassin.

The archer fell still.

She blinked, and the world snapped. The sounds of birds and men reached Ulfric's ears and he realized all had been silent and frozen for that uneven fight. When she left the dead and reached for her mask, he spoke.

"What did you do?"


	6. Chapter 6

It was strange to see her with such a possessed look in her eyes. The elf's gaze met his unflinching in its wildness. She laughed then, cradling the mask to her chest.

"I did what any dragon would do, when its sworn are threatened. Be grateful I had not the energy to char his corpse as I longed to do. Now someone can go through his pockets and figure out who hired him." She gestured to a soldier who approached warily. "You, find the copy of his orders. And if all he has is gold, well there's some septims that don't have to come out of the Stormcloak coffers."

"You destroyed a man in cold blood, and not too kindly, either."

"Would you rather he had sent an arrow through you and ended this rebellion?"

Ulfric glanced at the mask. "Why can't I see the magic of the mask anymore?"

She chuckled as she moved past him into the tent. "I Shouted to slow time when I first left the tent. It's a wonder you noticed anything at all."

The elf collapsed onto a chair, leaning heavily against the map table. After tossing her mask onto the table, she pulled a blue bottle from her pockets, uncorked it with her teeth, and guzzled the whole potion. She sighed in relief once it was empty.

"You drink like a Nord. I half expected you to sip like a proper Altmeri lady."

"I almost was one, you know. I came from such a great named family, every family with a lick of sense was trying to get me to marry their son. I was three years from a marriage contract, and even better it was with someone I knew."

"The friend who ran with you."

She nodded her head, almost proud of him. "He was a few years older than me and a great name himself. It was going to be the biggest event in almost two hundred years. Our families had been dear friends for millennia, but there had never been heirs that matched up in age so nicely. And we liked each other, too; that was even better." She sighed. "We had a banns party and everything. All of my relatives and all of his gathered under one massive roof, and talked about how no one was related to anyone else in a significant way. They then got drunk enough to make Sanguine proud. When still nothing came up, our families proclaimed it everywhere they could that the two of us were engaged. The Isles had three years to find a reason why we couldn't get married, and then the important people were signing the contract. My mother had even started to pick colors for the wedding, even though there would be an allowance of five years after the contract itself."

Ulfric suddenly noticed she had gone pale during the fight only because more color was appearing in her face. He coughed slightly. "I ran away from the Greybeards just once. The homesickness finally got to me. I must have run all the way back to Windhelm from that mountain and straight into my father's arms. He picked up his bawling son and smiled good-naturedly. When I had calmed down enough to listen, he was talking soothingly. 'It's alright, son. Though if you're back to stay, I'm afraid you're going to have to marry someone and be Jarl. I think Ygrette is still single,' naming my least favorite nurse. I ran all the way back to those monks."

She chuckled, coming to sit straight up. "I can imagine."

"If you don't mind me asking, your fiancé, did he marry another?"

"I was once in the Thalmor Embassy crashing a party in order to steal some information. Don't laugh; I got in with hardly an invitation. I asked First Emissary Elenwen herself, indirectly of course, about any big weddings back on the Isle. Posing as a Thalmor Agent currently in Morrowind, she talked easily to me. Too easy in fact, so I extracted myself from the conversation and made a distraction." She smirked, before sighing. "There have been no marriages to any great name heirs since I fled."

Ulfric offered her water. "There's something else?"

The elf barked a laugh. "Of course there is! He's in Skyrim itself. I know where, and why. He made too much of fuss. He tried to keep my family from being hunted down, the blame on only my brother, for one can run more easily than four. He forgot one important thing. Blood tells. That's what everyone whispers when the Thalmor take a whole family."

"He was the shadow that saved you."

"If he couldn't keep save us entirely, he would give us the chance to save ourselves. It was a few months into my life in Skyrim that I heard about my death." Her face was solemn and slowly returning to its usual closed manner.

"You really loved him, and he must have loved you, to protect you at risk to his own self. Why don't you go to him, if he's in Skyrim, whatever his name is?"

She leveled a glare. "To name him, that would risk spies hearing his name and having solid proof that could be used for his death. At the moment, under the law, all I've said is only scandal and heresy. I stay away from him for the same reason. I thought I'd never see him again when I left the Isle, and I'll keep that belief close to my heart. It protects the two of us."

"If you tell me his name, I'll not kill him when I run into him. I presume he's in Solitude. There will be orders to take him alive."

"He's not favored enough to be in Solitude. The only way to take him would be dead, Ulfric. He may be once-lapsed Thalmor, but he still has his pride. Simple spells can keep soldiers at bay for a long time, until any happiness of mine becomes far out-weighed by the casualties. Then it will have to be an arrow through the heart."

Ulfric didn't argue

"By Auri-El!" She rose to her feet suddenly. "I should have gone back to my own tent to consume that potion. I've blathered on and on. You must have grown so annoyed with me. Apologies, Jarl Ulfric. You have reports to read. And, if I may make a suggestion, a tent to turn around so that it faces your men."

"Siltuzma," he began, trying to placate her, convince her that what he said next he took in all seriousness. "Archmage and daughter of the House of the Rising Sun from the city of Dusk, you were no annoyance. If a tired warrior wishes to regain her strength by talking to someone, I'm happy it was me. I enjoy listening to you tell stories, and I shall guard them until my last breath."

Her face was calm, resolute, as she bowed slightly. "You honor me, my Jarl. I will now retire, by your leave."

He inclined his head in return and she glided smoothly from his tent.

The men insisted on turning the tent around, so he let them. Ulfric let them work, picking up his second set of reports from the table. He settled himself into a chair that was not to be moved and read while his men hurried around him.

When all had calmed, Ulfric set down the set of reports from Hjaalmarch.

"Siltuzma," he said quietly, letting his mind run over the syllables as they were uttered. There was something off about her name. He hadn't noticed until he attempted to assuage her worries. In that moment he had been trying to fill her name with all the reassurance he could muster. Now, the Jarl turned over in his mind her name as if it was a puzzle box. From this angle and that, he attempted to make sense of it, the name that only vaguely resembled the names of elves he had met before her.

It was melodic, sure, but in a harsher way. It was grounded, solid, more befitting a Nordic warrior than the Altmeri maiden her parents no doubt had envisioned.

"Siltuzma."

The hard sounds reminded him of the Greybeards, and listening to the old men sing and chant in a language long dead but still powerful. Everyday words flowed from their lips like harsh prayers and invocations of might.

Ulfric straightened in his chair, comprehension dawning.

However, when he moved, it was only to his cot to prepare for the night. There was a battle to be fought in the next few days. It wouldn't do to distract the Dragonborn by asking her to translate that name of hers that was now clearly a dragon's.


	7. Chapter 7

"I wouldn't risk the Dragonborn's life for a failed siege!"

"I should hope not," the elf huffed in response.

Ulfric and his self-proclaimed bodyguard were crouched with the rest of the Stormcloaks, watching the gates of Markarth from as close as possible. Her fingers were a flurry of movement as she wove spells of silence and dark-vision. She would be little more than a quiet shadow in her dark armor. There was little she could extend to him with a spell, but the Jarl, ever superstitious, didn't ask for anything anyway. The Dragonborn had been rather excited when he allowed her to brew invisibility potions for the entire army. Some of the soldiers needed convincing, but for now they sat hidden, fingers on the bottles.

"They'll get the gates open."

He had supporters in the city. They wouldn't let him down. Not tonight.

The Dragonborn nodded. "I'll be right with you and Galmar. You clear the way and get yourself to Understone Keep. I'll make sure no one gets the two of you in the back. Or anywhere else for that matter."

The second-in-command almost laughed. "Ever thought a pretty elf mage like you would be protecting two Nordic warriors like us?"

"No," she drawled. "I thought I'd waste my life embroidering."

The soldiers in earshot chuckled, trying to imagine the elf sewing like a lady when they had come to see her as a terrifying ally. Ulfric nudged her slightly. "Careful there, Dragonborn. You might convince these Stormcloaks here that you're a proper noble."

"Well. I guess we'll have to share some mead in the inn when this is all through."

Had silence not been so strictly ordered, there would have been many a rowdy cheer. Ulfric allowed a smile to stretch his lips.

It turned predatory as the gates of Markarth began to creak open. Ulfric's men slowly inched forward. He imagined they must have looked like shadow ants from above, skittering towards the mighty stone city.

The flanking presence of the two mighty warriors was a small comfort. It reminded him that he was valuable. He was no young, hot-blooded soldier to go raging through the city in a quest for glory. He was the leader, the general. It was his job to fight his way to the Keep and force the submission of the Jarl. He had to survive or there would be no cause. It was Ulfric Stormcloak who challenged the king in lawful combat and won. It had to be Ulfric who led the army.

He didn't allow a sigh to manifest, knowing Galmar would battle him over those "reckless, foolhardy, going-to-get-you-killed" desires. The Jarl shifted forward, sliding through the darkness with the rest of his company.

The doors slid wider.

The first cries of alarm sounded, but it was too late. The Stormcloaks were pouring into the city, still silent. They would not be the ones to scream tonight, not the ones to rouse the city and send it into an uncontrolled frenzy. Instead, they would be the shadows.

It was against everything instinctive for a Nord. It had been Siltuzma's idea after all.

To their chagrin, it worked.

Then the city began to echo with yells as the Markarth guards did their best to wake the whole mountain. Ulfric didn't stop to think, only glancing out of the corner of his eyes to look for his shadows as he charged up through the city. Galmar and the Dragonborn kept pace with him, stride for stride and stroke for stroke.

After two false ends, Ulfric suddenly could not find the elf.

"Where's the Dragonborn? She said she'd be at your back?"

Ulfric shrugged. "Doesn't matter at this point, Galmar. She's likely lost. We'll find her eventually. At this moment, I'm more concerned about the fact that I can't get to the Understone Keep."

"We keep going up."

And so they did. When he finally knocked open the doors of the Understone Keep and forced Jarl Igmund to his knees, Ulfric was feeling a little more than victorious. He accepted the Jarl's fealty, but turned the city over to the Silver-Blood all the same. The man had housed the spies after all.

One thought shot through his mind like lightning.

"Where are the Thalmor agents?"

Igmund looked up at Ulfric. "They're not here. Shortly before we all retired, they vanished into the Hall of the Dead and have not been seen since."

With a glance to his assembled men, Ulfric unsheathed his sword and headed back down the steps. They fell into line, hurrying down, back through the stone, and then deeper into the earth. The air was stale where the dead lay, but it was not difficult to find two of the Markarth's Thalmor. They stood in plain clothes on either side of a coffin. The two opened their eyes and turned their heads to meet the gaze of the city's conqueror, yet they did not move.

"The two of you represent the Thalmor of Markarth?" They did not deny it. "Where is your Justiciar?"

The one on the body's right spoke. "You see him before you. He died yesterday of a fever that would not break, no matter the cures we tried."

From behind, there came the sound of jostling. Ulfric turned to meet the slightly panicked eyes of the Dragonborn, mask hanging at her side. "Ulfric! Thank the Nine I found you. I hate this confusing city. When we leave, let's never-" She saw the coffin and the two elves on either side. She seemed to shrink. "Ondolemar?"

The one on the body's left nodded sadly. "Taken yesterday, my lady."

While the elves fell silent, Ulfric nodded to his men. "Take the Thalmor agents prisoner. It is possible we can get a deal with Elenwen for them."

"No!"

Between the elves and the mass of Stormcloaks stood the Dragonborn, in all her anger. Her black armor seemed more menacing in the torch light down below. She hissed at each soldier in turn. "They're standing vigil, can't you see? Left hand, down, over the coffin, to protect his body from evil influence. Right hand, up, over the coffin, to call down the light of Auri-El to usher his soul to peace. There should be three to stand vigil at all times. One for the heart, the mind, and the soul. You moved to take them prisoner but they would not defend themselves. They didn't even flinch. They will resist arrest, try to be killed instead, rather than fail their duty to their fallen commander." She suddenly ripped her gloves off and turned towards the one on the left. "I take it you were most like a friend to him."

"With only us two, my lady, he was never going to get proper rites. It needs to be a family member that stands for his soul."

Her gloves on the floor, fingers frantically working at the buckles of her armor, the Dragonborn nodded. "Well. Lucky for him only death nullifies betrothal contracts."

The other elves did not react. The Stormcloak soldiers were shocked, murmuring to themselves. Whether they were discussing the revelation of the Dragonborn's love life or her current attempts to strip out of her armor in front of them all, Ulfric didn't care to know. He immediately dismissed them, rescinding the order of the Thalmor's arrest. For now.

Ulfric watched as the elf he knew as the Dragonborn step out of all her armor, wearing nothing but the sweaty shift and breeches that went beneath the padding, and stand at the head of her coffin. Stiff as steel, she placed her own hands above the coffin.

"I will let you grieve, Siltuzma. But do not think we will not be discussing this."

"Your mistake," she replied, "is thinking there is anything to discuss."

He stared for a quiet tense moment as she closed her eyes, tuning him out and focusing on the vigil. He slowly padded away, not so fast to where he couldn't hear the Markarth soldier who passed him shyly asking if it would be appropriate for him to stand vigil for a little bit.


	8. Chapter 8

Two days later, the elf opened the door to his makeshift office, Arch-Mage robes rustling. "You wanted to see me, Ulfric?"

"Yes, Dragonborn."

Before he could begin, she had crossed over to his desk and started to speak. "The first thing we need before we move to take Solitude is to make sure Stormcloak forces are at the border. That will solidify your hold on the Reach, allowing for better-"

"I didn't call you in to talk strategy. In fact, I have already ordered what you started and commenced the invasion of Morthal and its hold." He calmly met the gaze of the guarded Dragonborn. "You have been missing. Where did you go?"

"It's not really your business."

"The Thalmor agents turned themselves and your armor in after the vigil was complete, with the quiet statement that you left. Vigil ended just after midnight after taking the whole first day I have occupied this city. You have been gone for two entire days since then, Siltuzma. You will tell me where you were."

She roared, dragging his name out into three syllables for a Shout. "Ul-fir-ic! I am the Dragonborn, the one with the dovahsos! I am the one that speaks the dovahzul! I can do as I please, when I please! I am not beholden to you, to anyone. I have done my duty; I have slain the World-Eater. You should be paying me the respect I deserve!"

Ulfric blinked once. "I am sorry for your loss. Now pull yourself together."

Rage flared up again behind inhuman eyes before rationality raced back to fill her. "Forgive me, my Jarl. That was unbecoming of an Arch-Mage."

"It did befit a dragon. I will not ask you were again, but do request that you let me know ahead of time when a strong emotion requires you disappear? Thank you for your consent. Now to business. I will be direct and hope you will be in return: your name. How did it come to be a dragon's?"

She laughed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I have heard the Greybeards chanting, and your name would fit right in to their songs. Perhaps I should talk to you later, since you're merely deflecting my questions rather than dancing around them with half-answers as usual."

"I- I apologize. I am not as I was."

"It is hard to lose what we thought we might regain. If you need to take time, I understand. It will be months yet before we move towards Solitude. I do not intend to be a part of the force to take Morthal. I am needed here, organizing and solidifying this city as Stormcloak territory. As for you, I do not need the Dragonborn to do paperwork for me. Take time to wander Skyrim, doing good deeds again, if you wish. When we move, you'll be hard-pressed to miss the signs."

She paused, before stepping up towards him. "With all due respect, Jarl Ulfric, I reject your offer. I don't need to take time to wallow in my grief. You need me here to protect your back. The soldiers need the Dragonborn on their sides. Not to mention, there are sane Altmer around. I have been longing for a sane conversation."

Ulfric frowned. "You want to speak with the prisoners?"

The elf rolled her shoulders back. She stepped forward so that the angle at which she looked down at Ulfric was increased. "I want to speak with the men who were loyal to their commander to the end. I want to speak to the men who provide link back to my culture, the culture that may have thrown me out but it is still mine. I want to speak to the men who are here as representatives of a body technically unengaged in the war you began, thus the men that deserve nothing but a quiet, respectable deportation as fast as possible. I want to speak to the only two men in Markarth that didn't try to kill you though they certainly had the means and motive to do so. Do the honorable thing."

"They are High Elves in a city recently conquered by Stormcloaks. I cannot let them go."

She hissed, angrily. "Then what do you intend to do with the Thalmor agents? And do you even know their names?"

"I suppose you do, having visited them before?"

"And I'm supposed to just hand that power over to you without their consent? They will want to form that bond with you themselves. Your inability to connect the logical dots and understand is amazing. Names give you power over someone but they obviously create a bond. You lose that bond when another shares the name." She let her head fall into her hands.

Ulfric noisily pushed his chair back, scraping it along the floor. "Come along then. I expect you to act as sort of translator."

"What?"

"You High Elves have your strange ways of speaking. If I make a mistake, I want, no, need you to correct me. Besides, if you could potentially explain the significance of their names, that would be a great boon. I intend to serve as High King of Skyrim. I should understand the Altmer."

Her eyes narrowed. "One is announced in the order of given name, family name, father, house, city, island, titles from lowest to great."

"Announcing the father differentiates between generations?"

"Yes. And that's all I can tell you without using their names or mine." She turned on her heel and moved out of his office. Ulfric hurried after her, while still attempting to appear dignified. "I cannot believe you decided to use his rooms as yours."

"I did not mean it as an offense against the dead."

"Well, the dead cannot be offended, can they?"

She allowed Ulfric to take the lead. He did motion away other guards who moved to follow them. The city had fallen into order mostly. He still trusted the elf to protect his back. This time, she didn't get lost as they strode through the winding stone city towards the jail.

There was only a slight stiffening to her spine when they entered the mine. Had she too been locked up in this prison? She didn't mention it, but that was no guarantee with her.

The two male elves looked up when Ulfric and the Dragonborn approached.

"Hello. Auri-El's light will shine on you. As you will recall, I am Siltuzma Thilinihle, daughter of Lylionniss of the House of Setting Sun from the city Dusk of the Summerset Isle, Archmage of Winterhold College, Thane of Winterhold, and Dovahkiin. I would like to introduce you to Ulfric Stormcloak, son of Galder the Bear of Eastmarch, of the ruling house from the city of Windhelm of Skyrim, student of the Greybeards, General of the Stormcloak Army, and Jarl of Windhelm."

The two men behind bars inclined their heads.

One, taller than the other, spoke first. "I am Iaccarryon Thramious son of Ancesisionil of the House of Bloomed Tree from the city of Skywatch of Auridon Isle, Soldier of the Thalmor and chosen scion of the House of Unfurled Leaves. It is an honor to meet the man who has attacked Markarth and the Reach twice and won."

The second, who seemed slightly darker, smiled and spoke, "I am Ravellon Thramiuth son of Fainarintil of the House of Bloomed Tree from the city of Skywatch of Auridon Isle, Soldier of the Thalmor. I wish we had met under different circumstances."

Before Ulfric, eyes narrowed, could speak, the Dragonborn leaned forward. "What news from the Isles? I have heard nothing since I left several years ago."

Iaccarryon relaxed against the wall. "There have been talks on Artaeum that numbers in the Psijic Order are up." As she smirked, he smiled in return. "I should have known that the Archmage would have dealt with the Order. In other news, no one as important as you has gotten married or even arranged one, but apparently there are talks between the House of Summer from Alinor and the House of Spring, as the latter's house has a young heiress about to come of age. That would out-shine any potential marriage of yours."

"Please," she laughed. "A legally dead traitor to Summerset who turned out to be the hero of the Nords marrying anyone, even an impressive scholar turned Thalmor Chief Justiciar, would have been the event of the millennium provided the Thalmor or Beautiful would allow me to get down the aisle without running me through, preferably while filling my veins with electricity."

That was when Ravellon turned his gaze on Ulfric. "So, my Jarl, when is our execution?"


End file.
